Nothing to gain, nothing to loose
by Tali1
Summary: The Hero of Kvatch and the future Emperor both want things they cannot have. What they can have however is negotiable. Implied Martin/OC, male/male within the last days before the Battle of Bruma.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All characters in this story with exception of Ulwen Hlervu are right- and lawfully the property of Bethesda and Zenimax. I am only playing around a bit.

Warnings: There are several. First, this is the first fanfiction I have written in a long time and it's done in my second language. It went through a few beta-readers but the one or other mistake may still occur.

Second, I wrote this story mainly for myself and some close friends who know the original character which is depicted here. For anyone outside of our circle Ulwen may appear like a snotty, lovesick and overly annoying brat – let me assure you, he is, but we love him that way.

Third, this is going to be something of a romance in the furthest sense of the word. Frankly, I am not sure if one may name it that way when most of the time they're tiptoeing around each other and talk themselves into doing things.

And fourth, this story hints at male/male relationship, although nothing explicit happens. It also contains strong language but I have restricted it to resonable levels.

Setting: This takes place in the few days before the Battle of Bruma. Martin is searching for help to get the Amulet of Kings back and Ulwen is, more or less, his errant boy. I tried to give more space to personal decisions which were important for this part of the game (for excample why Martin is a the Battle at all, he is the only hope for Tamriel at that point after all!) and to people who play an important role but aren't pictured enough like Jauffre or the Blades.

Have fun!

**Nothing to gain, nothing to loose**

**Chapter One**

Baurus had already gone to bed – a sign for the lateness of the hour – but Captain Steffan still was on his post in front of the Emperor's bedchamber. He nodded curtly and stepped aside as the Hero of Kvatch approached. Night-time visits to the Heir of the Septim Throne were a common sight nowadays and after a very distinct speech of Martin's on behalf of his friend none of the Blades dared interfere when the adventurer came to see him. Mind, some of the more fierce and prejudiced members still gripped their sword-hilts nonchalantly when Ulwen Hlervu visited, but the Dunmer couldn't care less. In the last months he had survived more and worse horrors than a group of fanatic war-priests and he was sure that, given the right time and place, neither of them provided a challenge any more. Not since Oblivion or the King of Miscarcand.

„Seems you've had a rough journey, sir", remarked Steffan as he drew the door aside.

Ulwen snorted in sort of an answer and couldn't resist: „But I am alive – unlike every Blade who visited the Shrine to Tiber Septim in recent years. Get someone to fetch my saddlebags; the armour's in there", he added with icy loftiness.

He was tired beyond endurance, still bleeding in some places and he was angry again – as he had been every time he visited Cloud Ruler Temple since trying to retrieve the Amulet of Kings from the Mythic Dawn. And since Steffan was there he got the butt-end of Ulwen's anger, but the Captain was not only older in years but also in the ways of the world; so he nodded again and let him through. Ulwen shut the door and was instantly surrounded by murky darkness and the sound of sleep. He thought about waking Martin, but reconsidered – what was to be gained by a few hours? He slipped what little baggage he had from his shoulders, his weapons, too, and slumped onto one of the benches that lined the room's walls.

No more than two seconds could have passed when he was startled awake by a soft hand on his shoulder. „Gods be damned" he cursed as the sudden movement tore through one of the barely closed wounds on his back. „And why did you wake me?" he snarled at Martin who was watching him from a few feet away. It was either very early or very cloudy outside so that the features of Tamriel's future Emperor swam to his vision like a shimmering blur.

„You were snoring", Martin answered and went to light some candles. Darkness crept to the outer corners of the room but the light did nothing to raise Ulwen's mood.

„Well, excuse me!", he exclaimed. „Everywhere else is full and I'm not camping in the Great Hall like some outcast beggar."

„I wouldn't have it that way, anyway, but you could've woken me – „ „And where's the sleep in that?" „... could have woken me and taken my bed, instead," finished the man with barely a pause. „I wrestled with a very difficult passage in the Mysterium Xarxes yesterday and went to bed early – out of frustration I have to add." Martin grinned sheepishly.

Ulwen felt like an idiot but that wasn't new. He felt like an idiot most times when Martin was around. „I brought the armour", he said.

„This is great news, indeed! The armour of Tiber Septim himself." Martin grinned. „I had to promise Jauffre not to destroy it. The Blades are as touchy as priests about relics of Talos but I need only a scraping of the blood therein for the Mysterium Xarxes ritual."

Satisfaction about his completed mission had washed away hours ago and left him empty, so all Ulwen could do was to sit quietly through Martin's joyous outburst. „So, what else do you need?", he asked.

„Another thing I deciphered as essential for the ritual is a Great Welkynd Stone," Martin said. „You may have come across the lesser Welkynd Stones which can sometimes be found in Ayleid ruins, but a Great Welkynd Stone is a completely different matter."

Recognition dawned on Ulwen's mind as he thought about the great stone he had found in the bowels of Miscarcand. He has had it for some time now, but every time he wanted to sell it or even let someone else have a look at it the thing had mysteriously disappeared from his rucksack only to reappear in later hours in some fold of the cloth or a pocket which Ulwen had not known before. Which was remarkable alone for the fact that the stone was nearly two feet long and of a whitish-blue glow.

„Due to their extreme value for magicians and cultists most of these stones have been plundered," Martin went on. „Only in Miscarcand it is rumoured that a Great Welkynd Stone may still can be found and many adventurers, it is said, have lost their life in search for it."

„Hang on", Ulwen said and turned around to his bags. To his surprise this time the stone was already there, lying on top of everything else in his rucksack as if it wanted to be seen. „I think I already got the stone." He turned back an presented it to the amazed Martin.

„By the Nine! You truly are a wonder! Not only the Hero of Kvatch but the Master of Miscarcand as well!" He stopped as Ulwen raised his hand in alarm.

„Don't say that!", the Dark Elf ushered. „There's only one Master in Miscarcand and …" He stopped. He could not bring himself to admitting his fear that the King of Miscarcand, the sneaking, silently stalking, hunting nightmare of a Lich was still on his trail. He _had_ killed the undead king, hadn't he? He shuddered. „... well," he finished lamely, „it's preposterous to say such things – you should know about that."

Martin raised one eyebrow but did not remark on it. „Well, I'm indebted to you, my friend. I can only guess what you must have been through and I thank you for your efforts." He gingerly took the stone from Ulwen and headed towards the door. „Wait here, I'll be back in a moment with some food and hot water", he said over Steffan's „Good morning, my Lord" and vanished down the corridor. The Blade and the Dunmer exchanged a look, then the latter spotted his saddlebags lying next to the door frame and blushed in embarrassment. 'I'm an utter s'wit, aren't I?', he asked himself and drew the door close again.

A few minutes later he swore under his breath again as he tried to dispatch various items of armour from his body. Really, he was no mer for the heavy iron or ebony stuff, but wearing an armour that held it's form in itself was likely more comfortable than wearing leather and elven armour which _stuck to the skin or recently gained wounds_. Damn it all! He was hopping on the spot, trying to shake loose the Saviour's Hide, which clung on to his shoulder blade and hissing and spitting under his breath. His bad mood was back and screaming for someone's head.

„If you need help, just say the word", came a dry voice from behind. Martin had returned and brought with him not only food and wine, but Cyrus, who was carrying a steaming basin and some towels. His dangling armour momentarily forgotten Ulwen crossed his arms – or tried to – and glowered darkly at the Blade as he stepped through and set the water down on the desk. Martin followed and carefully avoided making eye-contact with the enraged elf. „Thank you, Cyrus, you may go", he said instead.

Several seconds passed. „I _hate_ that gods-damned smug fetcher", Ulwen burst out. „And his guts!" Martin laughed.

„Well, you should've seen yourself."

„That's got nothing to do with it", growled Ulwen and, pride momentarily hurting more than backside, decided to get rid of his armour the hard way. The next minute was spend in teaching Tamriel's future Emperor some of the more colourful phrases in native dunmeri.

„You know, you could have asked for help", Martin said, still chuckling, as he took the Saviour's Hide from him. Ulwen noted how he carefully avoided looking at the hideous face that adorned the armour.

„You know how it is ..." he said lamely as the silence between them grew thicker. He dabbed at a scratch on his forearm.

„You and your pride", sighed the priest.

„It's the only thing I've got", replied the elf.

„Here, let me handle your back", said Martin instead of an answer and turned him around into the light. „This one looks horrible!"

„Probably poisoned as well, wouldn't stop bleeding", boasted Ulwen and asked himself afterwards why he even bothered.

„It's going to be a nasty scar in any way. Something to show off with the ladies." Ulwen felt a slight pressure on both sides of the wound as Martin drew the cut together and spoke some words of healing. The priest carefully washed the fresh scar afterwards while the tingling subsided to a slight itch. „You have much more than your pride, my friend" he said quietly. „You're famous – the Hero of Kvatch – and some of the treasures you've found on your travels is worth more than a small town. You're wealthy, you've got a house in Chorrol, now."

„And a shack in the Waterfront."

„People admire you. You've got comrades and friends."

„And more enemies than I can count." Ulwen felt Martins exasperation more than he heard it in the priest's groan and stepped away from his still caring hands. But Martin wouldn't let go.

„You accomplished a lot, my friend. That is something you can take pride in."

„I couldn't care less about all that rubbish!", snarled Ulwen and turned around to face the priest. Martin had a withdrawn, cautious look as if he was dreading what Ulwen might have to say, but feared answering to it first in case of bringing it up. „It's worth nothing to me! There's only one thing I want and everything I did since closing that damned Oblivion gate in Kvatch and everything I will do henceforth is only to get _that thing_!"

„Which I cannot give you", Martin said quietly.

„Cannot or will not?", asked Ulwen equally quiet. He took a step forward and rested his hands on Martins shoulder. The priest did not flinch away, nor did he resist as the young Dunmer drew him nearer. „Have you never given that to anyone, my sanguine brother?"

Martin's eyes glazed over, became distant for a second and then turned into mirrors which didn't betray any emotion. „We all have our secrets", he said.

Ulwen drew away, disgusted with the carefully impassioned politician he saw. It was amazing what changes had already come over the man he had rescued from Kvatch. He had seldomly met someone so honest about his feelings, it had moved his heart despite everything he had done to harden himself towards the world. Ulwen also remembered the insecure man who had been greeted by all Blades as their Emperor – Martin had changed since that day. Already he had learned to weigh his words twice before speaking his mind; as the future ruler of a continent of dissented people even the slightest weakness could be his downfall. Ulwen wanted nothing more than to claw away that shell until he found the passionate man again.

„Let me share one of mine", he said and his smile was ferocious and grim.

„There's no need for –„

„Why do you think I was in that cell the day your father died?" The façade cracked and Ulwen knew Martin remembered his father; the farmer of course, he had never known the other one.

„I choose to think it was because the Gods placed you there."

„Is that going to be the official textbook version?", Ulwen replied with cutting sarcasm and proclaimed, as if reading an invisible Black Horse Courier: „Hero of Kvatch placed in prison by the Nine themselves! Famous saviour of the Empire found innocent of all charges against him – Chancellor Ocato investigating legal matters himself."

„My friend –"

„I killed someone! It was a bar fight that got out of hand and I still don't know whether it was my blast or someone else's – but I wanted to burn that fetcher to cinders and he ended up dead, so by all means I was sent there by right."

„I know that", Martin replied with a touch of impatience in his voice. „I saw the records – Cyrus makes a point of letting them lying around – but as I have already said to all Blades and will say to you now: it doesn't matter any more. In time of the greatest need you and you alone decided to risk everything for a cause that wasn't yours and saved me. I don't know, and I frankly don't care whether there is a divine plan that pushes us hither and thither – it was _your_ choice to grip your sword and close that cursed gate. That has redeemed you in my eyes."

Ulwen didn't know what to say. Ever since he had left Morrowind, no, ever since becoming aware of the difference between himself and everyone else in his house he had longed for acceptance. Always striving for it but at the same time fearing to never really belong. And this priest granted something so precious to him just because of a thing done at a whim? And Ulwen wanted to belong so very very much.

„The night grows old", Martin said unexpectedly. „Why don't you sleep some hours and we'll talk later? There's some bread and smoked venison on that plate. I'll be in the Great Hall, toiling away on that wretched book." He smiled fleetingly and fled the room. Ulwen watched the door close and exhaled with a groan. He'd blown it all. Again. He took some moments to mentally berate himself for being such a prick, then let his body take over: washing, eating and sleeping were all equally done and even satisfying.

Despite his words Martin didn't go to the Great Hall but whisked through the barracks to clear his head in the cold night air. Most Blades were still asleep, but the night shift was as alert as ever: Jena guarding the entrance, Achilles patrolling along the battlements and Roliand gazing ever vigilant onto the road towards Bruma. The sun had barely had time to climb over the eastern mountains, so the temperatures were still very near the coldest which could be reached in the High Jeralls, but the icy air was clear and invigorating to his mind, which swam with fragments of the Mysterium Xarxes, snippets of lore and textbooks and over all thoughts about Ulwen Hlervu.

He started to briskly walk the battlements around Cloud Ruler Temple – not only to vent some of his restless energy but mostly to keep himself warm in the perpetual cold. This Dunmer was going to be the death of him. Such a wild and fey being! Ready to lash out at everyone who stepped a toe over the invisible line he had drawn around himself. Unfortunately, Ulwen changed that line every so often and Martin found himself always tiptoeing around the younger male's temper. He had not the slightest idea what had triggered the last outburst – surely Ulwen could not take offence in his being alive and asleep when he returned from his travels? So, what ailed the boy?

He noticed the ever present presence of Baurus, as he stood still for a moment to reflect on the last hour. Someone, Jena most likely, must have slipped into the barracks and woken his personal bodyguard. That, too, was something he still had to get used to.

He resumed his walk. He shouldn't have told Ulwen about the Sanguine Rose, but he had been so surprised to see the artefact in the dark mer's hands that it had just slipped out. Thankfully, they had been alone at that time; he would not like to know that Jauffre or any other of the Blades would know that the man they had sworn to protect had been involved with Deadra in his youth. Naturally, as a student of the arcane arts at the University he had come into contact with Conjuration magic – and been quite successful at that, too – but actual deadric worship was something the Guild was frowning on. But guild-rules had been tiresome and he had lusted for adventure.

Holding the staff in his hands, years after he had possessed it the first time, had been very disturbing. As if a small hatch in his mind had come loose and suddenly he heard the Deadric Prince's voice again – or was it the book, which seemed to enhance everything that was deadric? Even after grinding the staff to powder he felt the pull of longing which, once planted by Sanguine, never fully left.

He smiled ruefully as he remembered his self-imposed celibacy. People in Kvatch had thought him a saint, wholly engrossed with the faith and his services to Akatosh but in truth always wanting and never daring, because he could still feel Sanguine's touch in his mind and he did mind the Deadra watching. „Well", he sighed. „Back to work." He motioned to Baurus to follow him and strode back into the Great Hall.

Midday had not passed long as Ulwen stepped into the Great Hall. As usual only Martin and Baurus were there: the former reading and the latter standing guard. Jauffre would occasionally wander in and ask whether the future Emperor needed something, but the Blades generally left him alone and spend their free hours practising their art or rejuvenating in the mess hall.

„What happened there?" Ulwen pointed towards the round space in front of the fireplace, where some runes had been drawn in reddish-brown ink. Martin looked up from his book, bleary eyed, and turned around to to where Ulwen was pointing.

„The first step for the ritual: deadric and divine blood mixed together to encircle and separate a small space from the normal world. The Welkynd Stone is positioned in the Mundus-corner of the circle. And I think I've made some progress on the last item." He hesitated and stood up. „Come with me. I'd rather talk to you in private than provoking Jauffre again." He signalled Baurus to stay put as the Blade made attempts to follow them and led Ulwen back to the west wing.

„Good", he said as he closed the door to his room behind them. „As I said, I know the fourth item needed for the ritual and I have a plan how to retrieve it. But you won't like it. Jauffre doesn't like it and the Countess of Bruma certainly won't like it. The last thing we need is the opposite of a Great Welkynd Stone – a Great Sigil Stone."

Ulwen couldn't quite see where the problem lay. „So what?"

„A Great Sigil Stone anchors a Great Oblivion Gate – such as the Mythic Dawn opened at Kvatch", Martin prompted.

„Now I see where the Countess comes into play."

„Yes. We already know that the Mythic Dawn plans to open a Great Gate in Bruma to destroy the city and Cloud Ruler Temple. So our best way to proceed is letting them do it."

„This is madness!"

„I told you, you wouldn't like it." Martin shrugged, but his nonchalance was faked. „I don't like it either. The thought of endangering a whole city and all of her citizens just for a stone makes my blood run cold but it is our only chance. We cannot force the Mythic Dawn to open a Gate elsewhere. They have business here and they will do whatever they can to achieve their goal, although they must have noticed by now that we know of their plan."

„Well, at least you will be safe here", said Ulwen.

Martin went still then. „Ah", he said. „I feared we might hit that little snag." He raised his hands in a defensive manner. „I am their ultimate goal after all and I am tired about being mollycoddled. I can stand my own fights and I _will_ lead the defence of Bruma myself." His tone bore no objection.

Ulwen granted him a sceptical look. „As you wish, my lord," he answered just with the merest hint of cynicism but Martin took him seriously.

„Please, my friend," he said and grabbed Ulwen by his upper arms. „I need your understanding and not your obedience so that you can explain to the countess!"

Ulwen stepped back, thus freeing himself, and nodded. He felt shaken. „I better get going then", he said and forced himself to smile. It looked more like a facial cramp, he noticed in the mirror next to Martins bed, but since his usual smile was very strong on the smirking side, Martin didn't notice. „If Narina Carvain wants my insolent self skinned, boiled and roasted, what part would you like to have send to you? Just that I can order ahead?"

„Your head on a stick."

„As you wish," laughed Ulwen and departed.

Martin walked over to the window and watched as his friend mounted Shadowmere and galloped down the flight of stairs just to annoy the gate guard who had barely enough time to open the gate for him. The priest remembered a talk he had had with Jauffre the day after his arrival at Cloud Ruler Temple – of his duties and responsibilities as future emperor. The Grandmaster had tried with painstaking care to outline Martin's future life in the Imperial Palace with all its glories and comforts, especially straining all points he thought interesting for a man in his best years and learned in the magical arts.

Martin had listened carefully and tried to envision this life, but living at Cloud Ruler Temple had given him a more precise notion of what was going to come. Sod the Do-Whatever-You-Want-talk! He wasn't even crowned yet and already people outside the walls hungered for his life or were dying in his name. Already he had become a figurehead and loathed it.

Up to now he had heeded Jauffre's advice and done his best to support their cause otherwise, but the Battle of Bruma was going to be different. He would lead the defence to show his subjects that he was willing to make the same sacrifices as them. He had always been someone who took matters into his own hands and in his youth had more often than not paid for his impatience. Harsh lessons had levelled his mind but he still wanted to be where destiny was unravelling itself, he wanted a part of the action, to be able to affect the outcome of it all and to prove himself worthy … to the world.

How anyone could overcook venison stew was beyond Ulwen's imagination but here he had perfect proof that it was possible. He poked at some roughly diced meat and wondered whether his jaw would cramp before he had chewn down his last bite of stringy flesh or if he should try to wash it down with some wine. He was, as usual, the only occupant at his table but Achille and the rest of the morning shift were sitting on the next and Ulwen could listen in to their talk – if he had wished to. But the barrack-talk of life-long soldiers grew tiresome after the first fifty anecdotes of glorious battles and willing wenches, so he glanced into the fourth volume of „The Real Barenziah" once in a while, wondering how such an important person in Morrowind's politics could ever have been such a naïve cow.

The talk to Narina Carvain had gone surprisingly well but as the countess had said, living near Cloud Ruler Temple and knowing who one dealt with gave oneself another dimension to think of. She _had_ shouted, though, when he told her how soon Martin planned to get the Great Gate open. Not sure how many allowances he could make in Martin's name Ulwen had sternly insisted of any rescue and arming plans for Bruma being brought to an end in two days time. Well, his ears were still ringing, but in the end the countess had to yield. Her men could not close the gates forever, so ending the whole Oblivion-Crisis-and-Amulet-of-Kings-business as soon as possible was most desirable for both sides. Afterwards, they had talked for hours, scheming about how to move as many citizens to safe places without alerting the Mythic Dawn agents which roamed the outskirts of county Bruma. At one point Captain Burd had joined them with a detailed map of the Bruma caverns and other potential escape routes but he had been called away shortly afterwards when a new Oblivion Gate was reported on the road to Dragonclaw Rock.

He looked up as something big slumped onto the seat across him and was surprised to see Baurus there, alone. Knowing that only some very important business could have led the Blade to leave his post as Martin's ever-present shadow Ulwen pushed his plate to one side and fixed the Redguard.

„Mind, if I take a seat?", Baurus asked as an afterthought and opened two bottles of mead he had brought with him. After a healthy draught he stared fixedly back at Ulwen who hadn't touched his. „It's always down to business with you," he complained. „One might wonder why you even come into the mess hall."

„I wonder that myself, but since the food is here and it's the most reasonable warm room in the castle it's only logical." He stopped when he saw Baurus' expression. „Sorry," he said. „I've had enough small talk for one day. I know that you're not one for small talk either, so let's cut the courtesies, shall we?"

„Good", Baurus agreed. „I need to speak to you in private, about Martin", he said in a low voice and added loudly: „I never had the chance so far to thank you properly for your help in the Imperial City, friend. If you're finished eating, why don't you come out with me and I'll show you some moves with the sword?" He ignored Ulwen's gasp of horror and stood up, forcing the young Dunmer to follow his lead into the cold, drafty late afternoon.

„Why here? Why not in the Great Hall, where it's roomy _and_ warm?", cried Ulwen and hugged himself as they stood on the small training ground on the battlements. For the occasion of speaking to the countess he had forgone the Saviour's Hide, but wasn't sorry, as the Deceiver's Finery was made from thick velvet and left barely no patch of skin bare. Still, it was late summer in the Mountains and already near freezing point.

Baurus on the other hand, didn't seem to feel the cold in the slightest. „Better remove that coat and vest if you want them to stay clean", he said impassioned and drew his sword. „You'll be warm soon enough and the things I'm going to teach you can safe your life."

Ulwen threw him a look of deepest loathing, but did as he was told. The fine linen shirt he wore underneath did nothing to protect him at all. He was suddenly very aware of the frills around cuffs and neck and felt quite silly. „I thought you were going to talk to me?", he quipped and girdled himself with Chillrend. „And if I may be so bold, friend", he stretched the word, „we're up in the High Jeralls, surrounded by glaciers and there's only one fireplace in the entire castle – as far as I am concerned saving my life means keeping me warm."

„Firstly, Martin's working in the Great Hall and we're not going to disturb him." Baurus lifted his sword and brought it down in a wide arc, Ulwen barely needed to lift his own to stop the attack. „Secondly, talking whilst training is normal, no one will want to listen in to us." The Blade made a big step forward, undercutting Ulwen's parry and forcing him to jump backwards. „And thirdly, you were quite snotty back in the mess hall, so you're getting what you deserve." He launched himself forward, pivoted on the spot and brought his sword down on Ulwen's blade with such force he knocked it right out of his hand. Ulwen swore and bent down to retrieve it.

„You're a natural", Baurus said dryly. „What do you do when someone's attacking you?"

„I run for cover", spat the youth, „_then_ I cast Invisibility and do them in."

„Bah! Magic", spat the Redguard, showing every ounce of disdain his race held for the magic arts. „This won't do forever: if you have company for example or need to stall your enemy before reaching a certain point."

„In short, everything we will face at Bruma", Ulwen concluded.

„Exactly." Baurus mustered him shrewdly. „You know how to wield a sword, that's for sure, but you have no idea what to do in an all-out-frontal-attack, so let's start with blocking."

Baurus had been right; after a few minutes Ulwen had forgotten the cold and after half an hour he was sweating.

10


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

With a loud thump Martin shut the Mysterium Xarxes and pushed the tome away. It was irritating, to be honest, to have spent another day poring over its pages when everything for the ritual was ready and all he could do was to wait for the last ingredient to arrive. But he was driven by an irrational fear to have overlooked something, a small detail, a scratched-out letter maybe which would change everything and cause the ritual to fail or worse Ulwen to die.

He felt drained, however, and couldn't concentrate any more. Working with the book wasn't so much as _reading_ it, but stripping away layer after layer of interwoven deadric and mundane magic or following various threads, pulling here or there to try to get a glimpse of the whole structure and its connections to other structures outside the book. One of the layers, or threads, if one may have said so, was the connection between Mankar Camoran and his paradise. Martin was pretty sure by now that the Paradise existed only through Mankar Camoran's life-force, draining and refilling it in endless circle. The initial force behind it may have been Mehrunes Dagon, Martin felt the Deadric Prince's foul touch all over the book, but since that act of creation the maintaining was done through Camoran himself. By killing the Altmer Paradise would most likely collapse in itself, sending the Deadra to the Waters of Oblivion and the souls of the Mythic Dawn agents to – wherever the Gods wished to send them. But what would happen to Ulwen, Martin didn't know. He prayed that it would send him back to Cloud Ruler Temple, but prayers, as he had seen in Kvatch, were a thin thread of hope.

He rubbed his tired eyes and stood up. He felt dizzy for a moment and gripped the table to support himself. Enough for today! He longed for some fresh air and company, preferably in that order, so he strode towards the front door of the Great Hall, wondering whether Ulwen had already returned from his counsel with the countess – or if he had been true to his word to have his head sent up, if she chose to roast him over a fire. Knowing the disdainful ways of his favourite Dunmer and the proud and independent ones of Narina Carvain Martin was sure the talk between them must have been very tense at the least.

The cold air hit him like a hammer and stung his eyes. Incredible! After hours spend indoors one could easily forget that there was something like sunlight and fresh air. He closed his eyes in delight and basked in simple creature-comforts for a moment, then his attention was drawn away by sounds of cheering. He remained where he stood, unseen for the moment, and watched the last moments of Baurus' and Ulwen's fight. It looked as if the Dunmer was holding his ground, but Martin could tell that the Blade was pulling his strikes. Nevertheless, he had the feeling that the laughter and applause after each successful strike was as much in honour of Baurus' sword skills as well as Ulwen's comments on it. Martin knew the youth had a mouth to be afraid of.

What struck him as odd was that the latter was obviously enjoying the company – and the fight it had brought with it. To be honest, Baurus was one of the more approachable Blades, quiet and slow to make assumptions about anyone, so Ulwen had always been more relaxed around the Redguard, but had never gone so far as to actually spend time with him. Martin wondered whether this mutual understanding went beyond that of sparring partners.

Jauffre's appearance from the East Wing stalled any further investigation into that matter, because one sharp gaze from the Grandmaster broke the small gathering apart, sending the respective Blades back to their posts and the free shift back into the mess hall. Baurus shot the older Monk an apologetic smile, communicating something with his eyes and slipped past his superior, but Martin didn't notice, as his eyes were drawn to the young Dunmer, who had just stripped out of his soaked shirt and was wiping his face and neck with it. Coherent thinking was much harder all of a sudden.

He remained where he stood and watched his friend a moment longer, astonished to see him so utterly relaxed. Even the permanent frown was nearly gone from Ulwen's face, showing for once his beautiful and noble features.

There was danger there, Martin thought. He waited until Ulwen had collected his belongings and then strode out into the evening, slightly breathless and shivering – but that was due to the bitter cold.

„Greetings, my friend", he said. „How went your talk with the countess?"

Later they sat in Martin's room. Night had fallen and a deep stillness had fallen over the Temple. Once in a while they could see an orange glimmer wander by the window, a silent sentinel who guarded the sleeping inside. They had moved a bench in front of a small brazier, which glowing red coals spent the only light and warmth in the room.

„I was glad to see you sparring with Baurus today", said Martin after a lengthy but comfortable silence.

Ulwen made a non-committal answer. „He's a good fellow and honestly concerned about your safety."

„I can see as much", Martin said dryly. He knew where this was leading and wanted to stir the topic away. „Jauffre thinks he's still blaming himself for the emperor's death. But things won't get easier or more safe with me holed up here in Cloud Ruler Temple."

„I didn't mention any of that", Ulwen said defensively.

Martin watched him shrewdly for a minute. „Very well", he said, „you didn't."

„And I won't", added Ulwen and stretched himself. „You are your own master and can decide for your own."

„Thank you." Martin was surprised and pleased. „I might come to wish you had accepted Jauffre's offer to join the Blades. Someone like you in my personal guard would make things easier for me."

Ulwen snorted and stared fixedly into the brazier. The molten fire of the coals was strangely reflected in his own blood-red eyes. „Do I look like an honourable knight to you?"

„What matters is what you see in yourself", Martin answered, his blue eyes watching the youth intently. He knew that Ulwen was at odds with himself but had never been able to find out why. He waited.

„No," the Dunmer said at last. „Being an honourable warrior was all my House was about. If I've fitted into that I wouldn't have left Morrowind."

'Redoran', Martin thought surprised. Ulwen had never before voluntarily submitted any information about his home and Martin had just assumed that he came from somewhere in Cyrodiil. „Do you miss it?" he asked and could have slapped himself the instant the words were out of his mouth. The signs of hurt which flitted over Ulwen's face were unmistakeable.

„It's tearing me apart", the youth said, but already a hint of his usual sneer was back.

„Forgive me", Martin said. „It was not my place to ask."

Ulwen shrugged and continued to stare into the basin.

„You know, you _could_ join my personal guard", Martin ventured forth, but was immediately interrupted by another snort of his companion.

„That would never be possible! Even if people could forget where I come from and what I have done, the prejudice against my kin is too great. They'd assume I'm a heathen Daedra-worshipper who ravishes half the court and afterwards vanishes with the imperial treasury and the Amulet of Kings to boot."

„That is not true!", Martin exclaimed indignantly.

„Well. I won't stay to find out", Ulwen shot back.

Fear gripped Martin's heart. He had to fight for breath for a minute, then rasped out: „What do you mean?"

Ulwen continued to avoid his gaze but had the grace to look embarrassed. „I mean, that …", he hesitated. „… staying in each other's proximity isn't doing any good – to either of us – and so I've decided to, well, go."

„You can't!" Martin gripped Ulwen's shoulders, forcing the youth to look up into his horrified expression. „Everything depends on you!"

„That's not true", Ulwen answered amazingly calm but it was the second before the storm. He feared that any minute now his calm resolve would break. He needed to get away from the man. „What's left to be done can be done by others than me." He stood up, forcing the other to let go of him and quickly stepped behind the bench, putting it deliberately between them. „Burd of the Bruma watch knows how to close Gates now and I don't think one mer is sufficiently enough to send to Camoran's paradise. A host of soldiers would do better there."

„No!" Martin took a few steps around the bench, coming to stand directly before the elf and looked at him half beseechingly half enraged. „You are the only one which I can entrust with closing the Great Gate. You've closed dozens of them, unharmed, whereas Burd still loses men every time they enter Oblivion –" No surprise there, thought Ulwen, when one thought that entering an Oblivion Gate to launch a frontal attack was a wise choice of action. „– highly symbolical."

„What?" Ulwen had not listened to what Martin had been saying.

„I said", repeated the man carefully, as if he was fearing another breakout, „that I cannot hold open a gate to Paradise for longer than a few seconds. So only very few or one alone can enter. This must be someone who can deal with Deadra and with magic alike and who has already shown to the world that he is my champion in this campaign, as Mankar Camoran is Dagon's champion. It is highly symbolical."

Ulwen crossed his arms and gave him his darkest look. „Don't you dare to take the same road with me as your old man", he spoke through gritted teeth. „Just last night you said there wasn't a divine plan to our deeds and now you're telling me that there is such a thing after all?" In the semi-darkness of the room only his eyes and teeth were glowing, giving him more than usual a demonic appearance.

Martin took his time to answer. He was fully aware that in the eyes of the Dunmer he must look like a hypocrite, so he choose his next words with extreme care. „I must speak as I find", he explained and wandered over to a small bedside cabinet, opening it and taking out a few bottles and two silver goblets. „I am not sure any more what to believe – when there is a Daedric Prince involved who might guess who else is playing a part in this game? But I _feel_ that it is important that we both are on the battlefield the day after tomorrow." He came back to where Ulwen stood and looked him in the eyes. „You belong at my side", he stated.

It took his breath away.

If Martin had planned to shut him up he had been successful, Ulwen thought grudgingly and tried in vain to come up with an elaborate reply. He settled for sitting down again and watching skulking as Martin sat down himself, handing him a silver goblet and pouring some wine into it.

„I was going to safe it for our victory celebration" the priest said and stowed the flask unceremoniously under the bench. He then raised his goblet to a silent toast. „I thought to show you a novelty but since you are from Morrowind you might already know it."

The Dunmer looked puzzled into his drink and sipped it. „Shein!", he said surprised. „I thought there was a ban on it in Cyrodiil." He took another sip and kept it in his mouth, savouring the fruity and sour aroma of the Comberry wine. Images of days at the Bittercoast came to him, unbidden and painful. He swallowed and felt the wine's heat spread through his belly.

'If I go now, he will let me', Ulwen realized. 'He cannot command fealty from me and he knows and dreads it.' But he couldn't move. Either way he thought of was equally dreadful – leaving him and not knowing what became of him or staying and never be truly with him. It was a terrible choice.

„Why do you want to leave?" Martin's words tore him out of his musings and made him look at the man. Martin looked thoughtful into the brazier and Ulwen quickly looked down again. It made speaking easier.

„I lied to you about a few things – or I chose not to tell everything." Well, that was a start but how to proceed?

„For example?", Martin prompted.

„About what I wanted in the first night after our arrival here."

„My undying affection", Martin concluded and somehow even managed to sound both sympathetic and amused.

Ulwen's anger failed to raise to the bait and his sense of humour took over. „Yes." He smiled bitterly. „From a human."

„And even when you knew who I was."

„Most will say: Because I knew who you are."

Martin looked at him solemnly. „I choose to believe the first. It shows a certain romantic trait." He waited a few seconds and continued as Ulwen showed no sign of responding. „The reason why I declined that first offer and every one ever since is that it is not my place to make such a commitment. As the Emperor I must father children and I will be a proper father to them. And a proper husband to my wife." He sounded resolved. „Once I'm crowned I will have my hands full to keep the Empire together and bring peace into the Provinces. As the Champion of Cyrodiil – as _my_ champion – you would be an essential ally in those endeavours, but you could never be more."

Ulwen still didn't respond, but idly played with the goblet in his hands, tilting it this way and that, watching purple lights flicker in the liquid within. He felt Martin shift at his side as the Imperial propped his elbow onto the back of the bench and watched him intently, hand buried in his long brown hair.

„And there you are", he said softly. „Being romantic and asking for an eternity when you could be dead tomorrow or in a thousand years from now."

„What's wrong with wanting to belong to someone?" Ulwen asked defensively.

„Nothing. But the way you choose leads only to pain sooner or later and I am not cruel."

„Keeping me here isn't cruel at all?"

A pause. „I'm merely human."

Ulwen paused to think about that. „So you try to say, in your incoherent, human way is that if we're going to be together it'll be on your terms or none at all?"

„I'm saying", Martin answered equally soft, „that this is all we can ever have: a flight through the country, a fight side by side and some hours in the dead of night."

„Nothing to gain."

„And nothing to loose."

Ulwen drained his glass. „Here's to cruelty", he said bitterly and leaned forward.

The first kiss tasted like Shein.

Martin was surprised at the sudden movement and nearly withdrew, but Ulwen had placed a hand on his thigh and the heat of the appendix was keeping him in place. His lips opened at the questioning tongue, letting in the fruity taste of fermented Comberries that came with it. He hadn't drunk anything of the wine and he knew instantly that he would never be able to saviour it without thinking of this moment. Heat shot through him, cumulating in his groin, as he tilted his head to the side, moved his hands forward and drew the young Dunmer to him.

Their tongues battled for a moment for dominance until he gave in. A hand had circled around his waist, the other was sliding up his back to bury itself in his hair as he likewise brought his hands up to loosen the ponytail that kept Ulwen's shoulder-length hair in check. They broke apart to gasp for air, he saw the wanton look the other gave him and shivered with the answering tingling that made his body ache. Ulwen leaned in again and this time the kiss tasted of mer, mixed with wanting, magic and lust. The kneading hands withdrew along with the mouth and Martin opened his eyes in time to see the youth flinging away his shirt. It landed next to the brazier, not on it, thankfully, and Martin's eyes were drawn to the muscular chest, away from the burning eyes. He saw hardening nipples and a fine sheen of sweat already, then his attention was drawn to Ulwen's fingers, which were working his robe.

„Let me", he breathed and Ulwen withdrew but came back again to claim his mouth and to shove him backwards against the armrest of the bench. He felt the other's arousal through the thick cotton on his thigh. „The bed!", he croaked and pushed.

He had counted the knotholes on the wooden panels across the floor for the fourth time already, always coming up with another total number of them, but Belisarius wasn't annoyed by it. Serving as a Blade, and lately as one of the personal bodyguards of the Emperor, meant that one had to keep one's mind occupied whilst being alert for hours on end. He had drawn the night shift outside Martin's quarters for the first time tonight and had still several hours to go until his relief so he tried to keep himself awake and distracted from the voices which filtered through the thin wooden door on his left.

It had sounded like heavy arguing a while back and his hand still remained on his sword hilt in case he had to burst into the chambers to defend his lord. Martin and Ulwen seemed to get along well enough but one could never be too sure with Dunmer – they were an aggressive lot. There were other rumours, too, about Dark Elves which the warrior had heard on his various campaigns throughout the Empire. He didn't knew if they were true, but there had been some talk in the barracks these past few days and his mind always went blank when trying to picture what was being said.

'No smoke without fire', his late mother used to say and there had been some signs in the last time that hinted that the relationship between the Emperor and the Hero of Kvatch wasn't only on terms of employment. Jauffre's strained voice and rigid composure for example whenever Ulwen Hlervu was around. Or the fact that he had spend the last night in the emperor's bedchamber. True, Martin hadn't been in there but the way they acted around each other made one wonder.

The dull murmuring had stopped again and Belisarius relaxed a fraction, thinking up a new pattern he could use to count the knotholes when he heard other noises. Wet noises and something like … panting. He panicked. Surely they _knew_ he was standing guard out here? Cold sweat broke out as he heard Martin say something that sounded like 'bed' and heard a heavy and soft _thump_ afterwards. He willed it to go away but was horrified as soon after definite moans and sighs came drifting out of the room.

This was nothing he felt prepared for and he quickly retreated down the corridor to take up a post at the stairs which led down into the Great Hall and the other Blade's quarters. He urgently prayed that Jauffre wouldn't go to bed too soon.

The morning of the day of the Battle of Bruma dawned with a sun glittering excruciatingly bright on the glaziers surrounding the ancient stronghold which was the temporarily home to Tamriel's future Emperor. His Blades had been out and about for hours already, checking and rechecking their armour and weapons, doing some light workout to loosen their muscles and hone their bodies for the oncoming fight. They were nervous and none of them dared to think what was at stake if their fortune should leave them today. A tight-lipped Jauffre had gathered them an hour ago for a prayer to Akatosh and their guardian-god Talos and was now issuing his last orders.

„There is too much at stake as if we could not make the maximum effort to protect our Lord. Jena, Belisarius, Cyrus and Achille – you stay here and man the walls. The rest comes with me. Ready yourself", he ordered and walked over to the four Blades who stood dejectedly in the hustle and bustle of suddenly very busy soldiers. „Don't pull such faces", he ordered them, not unkindly. „You will have your chance at bravery at your next assignment or if we fail today." He led them a few steps away. „If everything is lost today, I order you to flee to the Imperial City. Leave everything behind and take Ocato to –" He gestured helplessly. „– to any place that deems secure. My spies tell me that Gates are opening all over Tamriel, so you'll have a hard time keeping the High Chancellor safe. But at least one part of the Empire must survive."

„But sir", Jena interrupted. „Why don't we bring Ocato here? The rest of the Blades will know where to find us and we could gather forces here." But Jauffre shook his head.

„Cloud Ruler is a sitting duck – easy to defend, but every part as easy to besiege. Go underground, gather our allies, maybe you'll even get the mages to help", he added doubtfully, „but disappear from the world! Try to think in decades or centuries even: one day will come were the forces of Oblivion will cease to be vigilant, that's the moment to strike."

„We can't kill a Deadric Prince", Cyrus said darkly.

„But they can be banished", Jauffre answered. „Search everywhere for help, pray to the Nine, stay vigilant and –" They looked around at a commotion behind them and beheld Martin stepping out of the Temple. Clad in the Imperial Dragon Armour, sword and shield at his side and standing erect, nothing remained of the insecure priest. In a wave Blades fell to their knees around him and hailed their leader. Jauffre made his way towards him and bowed. „Sire", he said and gestured to two horses who where held by a stable-boy. Both men manned the beasts and rode slowly out of Cloud Ruler Temple, followed by fifty men afoot and flying dragon banners.

Jauffre should never return.

At the same time Martin Septim set out to meet Countess Carvain for war-counsel Ulwen Hlervu mounted Shadowmere in Cheydinhal's Black Horse Stables. His steed jolted forward, was over the fence with one long and smooth jump and darted along the shady road towards the Red Road as if she knew that time was short and essential. Her rider hung low on her neck and gripped the reigns with white knuckled fingers.

It had sounded like a good idea to spend the night at the sanctuary, especially since the night before last had been very short. They had bedded each other several times, finally succumbing to sleep when the sky was already brightening for the new day. Ulwen still felt a tingle surge through him when thinking about the hours spend between the other's thighs and vice versa but it had delayed his planned set-out from Cloud Ruler to late midday. And plans he had.

Sod Martin's terms, he had decided just before kissing the man. Martin would hope in vain that he'd disappear once this crisis was over or worse, play the role as imperial enforcer in the provinces. Ulwen may have left Morrowind but he was still a Dunmer and felt his race's natural distaste for foreign rule. So, what options did he have but to show Martin his true cards?

Surely some less drastic, a small voice in his head answered but the youth had been too distressed to listen.

He'd decided to go to Cheydinhal and send some of his murderers to Bruma but his involvement wouldn't stop at that, he vowed. Ulwen had been growing up knowing about the Morag Tong and their government-sanctioned murders. He could see where the connection to an underground organisation which dealt in untimely demises could come in handy for someone in a ruling position, so he choose to present the new Emperor with something to remember him by and to use against his enemies. And every murder, he swore, would remind Martin of the night they had and the future they hadn't. The man might think himself kind but the mer was merciless.

You're in way over your head. The deaths today will not please Sithis for they are no murders, the voice reminded him.

Ulwen swept this thought away. If Sithis wasn't pleased he could made amends: there were whole cities he could lay at his God's feet if demanded. Shadowmere slowed down a moment as they arrived at the Red Ring Road but galloped north in the next second. She was a splendid steed and a kingly present, Ulwen had known this as soon as his late mentor had given her to him. Whenever he urged her to full speed it only felt as if the steed was merely loosing the restraints she had on herself the rest of the time, as if she was finally allowed to run as she pleased. Nevertheless he cast one or two spells which should make the road easier for her, they were still on the plains after all.

The second course of the meal was being removed from the table and other servants approached with overflowing silver platters and bowls filled with the various meats of the third course. They went around silently, delicately selecting venison and hare which they put on to silver plates in front of the dinner guests. Still others brought pitchers of sauce or fruits. Finally, an elderly man made his third round with a pitcher and refilled every glass that needed refilling and withdrew again, bowing first to Martin and then to the Countess.

„How is the evacuating going?", Martin asked uneasy and took up his fork. He was too nervous to eat but custom and manners demanded that he ate at least a few bites out of every course to show his appreciation for the cook and his host. He also feared that he had already affronted the former by rejecting a dish of blueberry and cheese soup and the latter by forcing her to forgo the soup herself, as custom urged her to dine as long or as little as her social superior. A slight nudge on his foot under the table had made his fault clear but Jauffre's warning came to late. Both Blades, Jauffre and Baurus, were seated at his side, on places of honour while the Countess sat on the other end of the large table. The feast had been a dreary affair so far, as all participants were too preoccupied to be amiable.

„Most citizens have left", Narina Carvain answered.

„There are still some, though, who refuse to leave and insist to fight", offered Burd, the Captain of the Watch. „Most of them are Nords but there's also a few Bosmer and Imperials."

„Send them away", Jauffre ordered. „This is no place for civilians."

„Leave them be", Martin interjected and found himself at the centre of attention. He would never get used to this. „Nords are eloquent fighters", he added, „and every citizen who thinks himself worthy deserves the chance to defend his home."

„They won't know how to fight in order. Many a great victory was forfeited because a few undisciplined fighters broke ranks."

Burd shook his head. „I know them. Many of them are in the militia and have helped us to close Gates before."

„So be it", Martin said. „We will need every sword anyway and knowing that they defend their homes will make them all the more ferocious in battle. It will be hard enough as it is to make the other soldiers understand why they should lay down their life in a strange land and for an unfamiliar cause."

„It's a just cause!" Baurus thumped his fist on the table.

„Not for them, I fear", said Burd reasonably. „Most of them have never been outside their own counties and it is hard to understand why they should defend other people's homes when there's danger at their own doorstep, especially if they are from Leyawiin."

„Yes", confirmed the Countess darkly. „And Caro has only sent a dozen swords."

Martin pushed his plate away. „I'm not hungry any more"

The Countess clapped her hands loudly. „Dessert", she ordered.

„Steady", Ulwen said lowly and brought a small vial to Shadowmere's muzzle. The steed shied away but didn't break free of his hold. She was shivering and sweating profusely and dripping blood from a deep gash at her side. He stroked her neck and tried to calm her enough to administer the healing potion. Once again he cursed himself for never having taken the effort to learn more than the most basic restorative spells but then again, he rarely travelled with anyone and had to save lives even less. Shadowmere whinnied in a small voice but finally held still and Ulwen gave her the potion. „Stupid horse", he said affectionately and watched the wound close itself.

Dead Xivilai lay around them and the remnants of one or two Atronarchs. An Oblivion Gate had opened overnight at the crossroads of Orange and Silver Road and the Deadra guarding it had ambushed them as soon as they came into sight. For a few hours at least this place would be peaceful now but Ulwen lacked the time to jump into the Gate and close it. He wondered whether he should leave warnings for the next wanderer but in the end just kicked the severed head of a Xivilai down the Silver Road which was less protected and winding steeply. Then he mounted Shadowmere again.

„Make haste!" he urged her and she flew away.

They had been making good speed, Ulwen reflected, until they came across the Gate and now time was running short again! He felt dreadful to have her gallop up the climbing path towards Bruma but slowing down would mean being ambushed by bears or ogres. At least she would have rest once they arrived at their destination whereas his labours would only begin.

He routinely checked his bow and his quiver of arrows – all poisoned – and let his hand rest briefly on the reassuring coldness of the Blade of Woe. He had already donned the Dark Armour when leaving Cheydinhal, only a travelling cloak disguised the tell-tale signs on the armour. He was ready, as were his murderers, who one by one appeared from their hiding places along the last half mile before the city.

„Soldiers of Cyrodiil", Martin cried and paced up and down the first rank. „Today is the day …" He was nervous beyond measure. This was his first battle, this was the first army he would lead. His gaze flickered again over the less than six hundred fighters and archers, hoping that he would spot Ulwen Hlervu.

He felt the soldier's unrest. Word had already spread that the Hero of Kvatch was conspicuous by absence and he knew that Jauffre had hastily given order that a small contingent of soldiers and Blades led by Burd should invade the Great Gate if Ulwen didn't arrive in time. But Martin was sure the Dunmer would come, he knew that destiny or divine plan willed him to be here. The only thing he, Martin, had to do was to give his best to rally the soldiers' spirits until his champion would arrive. The Gate behind him flickered to life and he turned around.

„Steady yourself", he cried. „Here they come!"

The sky had been growing darker and darker over the last minutes and Ulwen fancied he could hear the rolling thunder over Shadowmere's hooves. Then the screams started up and he knew that the Battle of Bruma had begun. He nudged Shadowmere to even more haste, rounded a corner and saw it! Two Gates were already open and the third, the really big one, shot just out of the ground like talons clawing upwards at the sky. Around it the battle was in full flow: arrows and magic missiles shot to and fro, lines of soldiers and beasts were clashing but the battle order was still standing. He screamed at Shadowmere to run faster, directed her around the outskirts of the battlefield to reach the front of the cyrodiilic forces. Deadra who were in the way were blasted or trampled down – he needed a clear path!

He saw a flicker of gold; that was Martin surrounded by enemies and allies alike, their eyes met for an instant but the man was drawn into a fight with Deadroths that had broken through the ranks of Skingrad and Anvil soldiers. Praying like he never prayed before, Ulwen jumped from Shadowmere's back and ran towards the Great Gate. Light flickered between the Gate's posts, fire erupted and the portal was there. He fixed his gaze at the massive schemes of biped monsters which became visible behind the fiery screen. Dremora and Xivilai, Spider-Deadra and Clannfears alike began pouring out from the portal, efficiently blocking nearly all of the Gate. He shouldered a Clannfear away, slashed his Blade at a Xivilai's unprotected midriff, took a jump and vanished from the world.


End file.
